Reverb 14, Day 4

1. We are all lightning rods, conduits for that which the Universe wants born into this world. What energies did you channel this year?

2. Do Over: Hindsight is the one thing we never benefit from in the present.  Is there one moment you wish that you could do-over?

1. Early this year a group of local women began meeting once a month to share and to help each other through Reiki, a focusing of energy that can help heal -- a 'laying on of hands,' it might have been called in earlier days and cultures. In September I completed the Reiki Level One classes, and will go on to Level Two the next time classes are offered here. 

This energy was tremendously helpful for me as I prepared for my ablation; helpful as I kept boundaries and worked on acceptance; helpful in getting to know other like-minded women. We come from a variety of backgrounds; some are Christian and church-going; some are not so much. It doesn't matter in that group -- the energy and caring is just there for us all to receive and to give. 

I learned to channel the Universal energy spirit through my body and my hands, and in the process, did a lot of thinking. My lessons this year were more inward, coming to terms with some long-standing issues and fears, and learning that the inside needs to be right before the outside acts,  not that it can't be done somewhat concurrently!  

I am a student these days, soaking in the lessons that are appearing before me, and learning from those who are walking the path too.  I feel very blessed to have all these teachers appear when I needed them!

2. Oh, geeze. I have always been a fantastic Monday morning quarterback, and have in the past replayed scenes the way I wished they had gone, saying in retrospect the succinct, witty, perhaps snarky comments that were not on my tongue at the right moment.  I've had whole imaginary conversations with people, multiple times, sometimes for way longer than I should even be thinking about it. 

And right now, I cannot think of a single instance this year where I wished for a do-over like that.

Were there any? Probably.

But I am learning better from my missteps, those times when I have gotten embroiled in something I'd rather not have done in retrospect, and taking steps to make sure that I don't do it again. One such instance involved explaining rather frankly to an organizer of an event dear to my heart in which I've participated for several years why I would not be helping in 2015. I was not rude nor abrasive, but rather than brush it off as being 'too busy' or some other nebulous excuse, I told the individual exactly what I felt and experienced, and wished them well. Without me. 

I am not at all sorry for participating this year. But the experience showed me clearly that I was done with the event as it currently is organized. So I really didn't want a do-over; instead, I let it go. 

That's even better, I think: to be able to analyze what no longer serves my best interests, my highest self, and to stop doing it. That leaves the door open for something new to come in, something that will better fit who I am now, who I am growing into. 

And that goes for those words that escape from my mouth before my brain is in gear. Those instances show me how important it is to LISTEN and to keep my own mouth shut until I am sure I have something valuable to add. I'm getting better at that too.

 

August Moon 14: Day 3 -- Loving what?

Day 3: What do you love? Today we’re going to delve a little deeper. We’ve had a think about what it is that we do. Now let’s make some space for what we love. Say someone found all of this evidence many years after you’d gone: what conclusions would they draw about the things/ideas/people you loved? Angels watch over us in our great room, perched on the high ledge over the wood stove. Most are my mother's collection; a few are ours -- one from a grateful client. Angel chimes sit near them atop the built-in bookshelves. They make me feel connected to the Universe and to those we cherish.  A bouquet of mostly floral teacups surround a pretty floral teapot in our china cabinet, and sad to say, they are all mostly unused. The teapot was a wedding gift to my parents and has a few mended cracks visible, casualties from my childhood. The cups are from my grandmother's, great-aunt's, and my mother's collection, plus a few from my former mother-in-law, and I love them all.  That cabinet also holds white curved twin Red Wing Pottery vases -- another inherited wedding gift that somehow escaped breakage. We rarely have flowers because our two kitties like to nibble on them, but the connection to the past and my parents is strong there. Books are everywhere: old ones, oft-read childhood ones, the brown leather and gilt Shakespeare from my childhood displayed in the great room shelves along with a few china knickknacks and some handmade birdhouses. In the salsa-colored den on the white woodshelves that cover one whole wall -- the bulk of the collection, arranged by non-fiction subject and fiction alphabetical author, at least mostly. Colorful covers pop at us -- trade paperbacks mixed unashamedly with  jacketed hardcovers and somber Bibles and hymnals. It's our personalities in there, a pretty accurate representation of what we love to do, love to read, and who we are -- or at least were at some point. Our newer interests rest sedately in the Kindle cloud, unseen by eyes other than ours. And that, I think, is a loss of sorts, although I love my Kindle. Magazines too, in stacks waiting for periodical files; on end tables waiting to be read or finished; in baskets by the bed and my favorite reading chair.  Cookbooks are crammed into a built-in kitchen niche -- worn church and service club collections next to the ubiquitous red-and-white Better Homes and Gardens, A much-taped-up recipe file is stuffed with computer-printed samplings and long-ago hand-written recipe cards. My mother's and grandmother's recipe files rest in a cabinet nearby, and when I pull one out, the handwriting always brings them into the kitchen with me: Jule Kage and fruitcake cookies and pecan shorts every year at Christmas, especially.   Two paintings, one from each daughter, are almost the only non-photographic art on our walls, although our bedroom also holds the Holstee Manifesto which reminds us every morning as we get up about what is really important  Otherwise we are surrounded in every room  by photographic memories of events, trips, scenic vistas, and a few taken to illustrate my freelance articles that are particularly interesting.  There is no planned decorating in our house, other than coordinated, rather vivid, wall colors of red-dirt clay (although my brother snarkily referred to it as 'dead salmon'), muted oak-tree-leaf green, salsa red, and a few lighter peachy tones -- colors that reflect the outdoor landscape where we live, so visible in the big windows that are everywhere. But a theme? No. Each collectible, each knickknack has a history and is something we enjoy seeing daily. Kindly put, our style is eclectic.( And probably not helped much by the 6-foot-plus cat tree and numerous scratching posts in varying degrees of shredded sisal that sit next to the scratched-patina leather chairs and mostly intact cloth upholstery and quilts and afghans and pillows. We like comfort. So do the kitties.) While we have many music CDs, we like the country quiet and seldom think to play music in the house. It's a broad mix: Grateful Dead, Loreena McKennitt, John Rutter, Vaughan Williams, Traveling Wilburys, Johnny Cash, Mark Knopfler, the Beatles, Broadway shows.  Our preference in television series and movies swings to drama, but often with a twist, and yet we enjoy the Pixar movies too.  We are both generalists -- we enjoy a broad range of styles, of subject matter, of content, of delivery.  We like things around us that mean something to us, although we are slower to eliminate things that no longer reflect who we are or serve our needs, probably mostly out of habit. We like comfort and warmth. We love the outdoors and the ocean -- there are many ocean photos on our walls. We enjoy the feeling of being connected to our past and to those we loved, and also to the greater Universe. We are hodgepodge,diverse, a bit unorganized. Eclectic.

Never 'less than' anyone -- I am enough

I am finally ready to begin the lovely and introspective writing prompts for August Moon 14, thanks to Kat McNally and her ever-fertile mind and brave writings.I am late to this party since she began emailing the two weeks' worth of prompts Aug. 10. Fortunately, neither she nor I care when they get done: what is important is that I examine where I am.

But first, let me say what is foremost on my mind today, largely because of a dream early this morning and also an innocent question asked about my recent surgical procedure.

I am not 'less than' anyone. I have never been 'less than' anyone. I am fully, wonderfully, bravely flawed and wholly exactly who I am. And that is enough.

The dream was fairly interesting, involved various electronic and film equipment set up in tight quarters perched somehow on the balcony of what appeared to be either an old church or an old school, with trailing wires everywhere. There was a gathering of people who I know, not well, from various parts and times of my life sitting below at tables and chairs, and there had been some interaction with a few of them, not unpleasant but not remarkable either. Somehow one of them was moving a film screen on the balcony, and I grabbed at the end of the bottom roll, telling him I'd help and to be careful, and with that, he pitched completely off the balcony, much to my horror and dismay! I don't believe he was injured, but it was clear the rest of the group was judging me, whispering disapprovingly, as they moved to help the person who had fallen. I was, as I have been many times before in my life, left outside, and feeling very much 'less than,' shamed, worried, and awkward.

I woke abruptly from this, and the thought "I am not 'less than' anyone. I am fully who I am supposed to be. That is enough" was clear and completely formed in my always-fuzzy morning brain.

 This week a lovely friend asked what caused the atrial fibrillation for which I had, exactly a week ago, a radio-frequency catheter ablation. It was an innocent, well-meaning question that anyone unfamiliar with the disease might ask. But it, too, momentarily made me feel 'less than,' as if somehow I had brought on this condition through some action or behavioral folly. As if somehow, if I had taken better care of my body, always maintained a healthy diet and good exercise, lived a blameless, shameless life, done something -- anything -- smarter-better-faster-healthier -- that I would not now be recovering from this procedure, or from any other health issue for that matter.

Oh, I so understand the fallacy in that.

But the feeling of 'less than' is insidious and pervasive. It does not respect celebrity nor money nor career nor lifestyle. It grabs a toehold where it can and hangs on, waiting patiently if need be, to feed. In my case, I know it has been there most of my life.

And I believe that even those we imagine to be 'more than' we ourselves are -- healthier, wealthier, slimmer, prettier, more successful -- suffer from the 'less than' feelings at least sometimes.

The person who makes me feel 'less than' is me. Nobody else has access to my thoughts, to my emotions. That responsibility rests squarely and completely at my own soul's door. 

I am not at fault for anyone's actions but my own. I am not responsible for anyone's thoughts or feelings but my own. Nobody has the power to make me feel 'less than' except me.

And I am declaring that I am enough, just as I am. I am not 'less than' anyone, no matter whether I am fat, skinny, healthy, unhealthy, whether I do yoga every day or once a month, whether I eat kale or candy, whether I am part of the wine-drinking, stylish, party group or prefer to sit watching television in my comfy yoga pants with my husband. What I do with my life is MINE to decide.

My choices are my responsibility too. I get to choose my lifestyle, my health habits, my foods, my friends, what I do in my spare time. Nobody else gets a say in that either.

 I realize that sometimes the shit hits the fan, and we get atrial fibrillation, or cancer, or name-your-disease, or god-help-us-all Lou Gehrig's Disease. It is not our fault. We do not get this because we are 'less than.'

(Okay, I will concede that there are things we can do-- choices we can make -- that lessen our odds of some disease or condition developing, like quitting smoking, not doing drugs or alcohol, exercising regularly, etc. LESSEN, mind you, not prevent. And then again, they are choices we get to make for our own lives -- and having made the choice, it also is wholly ours to accept. We are not victims when we choose our course of action. )

So this is where I am today: I am enough, exactly who I am, flaws and all. How I live going forward is completely up to me.  I will not accept anyone else's judgment of me as 'less than' -- or, for that matter, 'more than.'  It is my own thoughts that are important here, my actions, my choices. I am all that I need to be, right here.

Reverb 13: Day 14...Best decision and best meal

1. What was the best decision you made in 2013? What were the results? How will you continue the good work in 2014?

2. Feast | What was the best meal you had in 2013?  Was it slurped standing over the kitchen counter?  Was the menu written in a language you understood?  Were you alone?  Or at a table filled with family and friends?

 1. I've pretty much answered this in roundabout ways under slightly different prompts. The best, the hardest, the most far-reaching decision I made this year was to stop being the representative payee for my daughter. It was a difficult decision involving a bunch of emotions and guilts and fears, but both of us will be better served and our relationship will evolve to a different place because of it.  That's the short answer. How it plays out for her in 2014 remains to be seen, but it was the right choice for me.

2. The best meals are eaten in the company of someone you love, and we've eaten some good ones. The very best meal this year wasn't so much about the food as it was the company. 

We were in Seattle visiting our daughter and her family, and after going on a shoe shopping trip for the kids and both parents in the morning, all eight of us went to  the Ram Restaurant and Brewery in the Kent Station mall. With four kids from age 5 to 13, eating out anywhere is pretty rare, and while both parents work hard, they often struggle to make ends meet. The Ram is not a super fancy restaurant but has a good selection of gourmet burgers and upscale sandwiches in addition to other menu items, and is a mini-brewery -- a really nice atmosphere, and one they had never experienced.

Watching the kids read the menu and the ensuing discussion about this burger versus that one, and the final choices was So. Much. Fun. But when we were served, we watched the eyes of the two older boys (11 and 13) get big as saucers: the burgers were practically as big as their heads.  They dug into those burgers and steak fries with gusto, commenting often on how good it tasted, how it was such a cool thing to do, and slowly they ate nearly everything on their plates. The 5 and 10 year olds were also chowing down, but their mom had helped them order items that were more appropriate to their appetite levels. And we could not have asked for more perfect manners from any of them.

I don't even remember what I ordered, although I remember everything was really good. When everyone had finally finished, the boys had a sizeable pile of fries left that they wanted to take home. But the two youngest had a complementary dessert with their kiddo meals, so we all consulted a dessert menu -- yes, even the two very well fed older boys. And they ordered root beer shakes. And while we were waiting for the desserts, the boys polished off every last fry. And then slurped up every last drop of those rich, root-beery, ice-creamy shakes, still commenting on how full, how stuffed, they were, how delicious it all was, and how it was the 'best meal' they had ever had.

Our waiter was simply marvelous, allowing plenty of time for decisions but still being attentive, and he served the kids full-sized desserts, not 'kid' size. (And yes, I had something chocolately and yummy too.) He helped turn this family lunch outing into a very special event for all of us. 

We had such a great time that day, and I don't think those two boys will ever forget that meal. I don't think I will either.

Reverb 13: Day 11. Challenges and failures

1. What challenges lie ahead in 2014? How might you meet them boldly?

2. FAIL | What just didn't work out this year?  Is that okay with you?  Or are you going to try, try again?

1. Who doesn't have challenges? The level of challenge depends on where you are in your own life -- what seems a big issue to one may look like a walk in the park to another. We lead a fairly drama-free, calm, good life, and our challenges sometimes take on a far more serious threat than they really are. I am grateful, GRATEFUL, for that, actually.

I expect the biggest challenge to center around my daughter and her issues, and how I react to them. What I want is to be loving and compassionate and kind, but not enabling or controlling. Learning to not give advice unless asked or sound angry and judgmental are my goals. Being squarely in the moment as I listen to her is another, and not projecting outcomes is another. 

Taking care of myself and inviting positive energy is essential to meeting these goals. Her path is hers; the only one I can directly affect is my own. I can do this by going back to the gym and participating in yoga and tai chi classes as much for the spirit as for the physicality of the exercise, and by continuing to cultivate mindfulness in every moment. And just loving myself, warts and all, and loving her without judging. Tall order, hm.

2. I don't think of any of the events of this past year as failures, even the ones that were and are hard and that may not be all I'd wish they were. There was progress in every instance, maybe not as much as I'd like to see, but progress nonetheless. Life is about change, learning to adapt to them, being willing to initiate change if a current path is getting you nowhere, and always evaluating your options. We always, always have options. 

As I grow and change and mature and adapt, my choices and options change as well. And we're never done with change and options as long as we are still breathing. Perhaps it sounds very Pollyanna-ish, but this story about choosing to be happy stuck with me.  Even at life's end we have options: I was with both my mother-in-law and my mother as they drew their last breath, and the difference in how each woman left her body was remarkable. My always-angry, passive-aggressive MIL left fighting, uneasily, although at the last moment she saw something transformational that she tracked with wide-open, clear eyes. My mother slipped peacefully away, not long after my brother arrived, and holding  our hands, calmly and quietly and lovingly. One last, long intake of breath, and then quiet.

I hope I will always try, try again to see my options and choices in whatever situations I find myself.  I hope I will always choose progress over paralyzing inaction. I hope I will choose the positive path.

Reverb 13: Day 5. Risk and challenge. Oh yeah.

1. What was the greatest risk you took in 2013? What was the outcome?

2. Challenge | Did you take on a new challenge in 2013?  What was it?  Are there challenges you deliberately avoided?  What do you want to do to challenge yourself in 2014?

So I've been thinking about risk and challenge today. I can find challenges aplenty, but risk? I don't know that I am a risk-taker very much, at least not any more. I mostly analyze (probably to death) situations and choices before I take actions, especially when those choices are hard or impossible to reverse. And sometimes I wait until the way forward is impossible to miss, until there is such a clear indication of what must happen.

I suppose the greatest risk I took in 2013 was the surgery I had in December 2012. Walking had become painful and I knew that not doing something about it was going to end up with me in a wheelchair eventually, and I am way too young for that. So while the risk was literally taken at the end of 2012 with the surgery, the rehab was up to me to do in 2013. And it was both a risk and a challenge: I had spent so much time accommodating the bad foot that my whole body was off, and I had to learn how to stand, how to walk, how to get up and down, and so on pretty much all over. 

 When I began walking in the boot, I lurched, literally. When I  went into a shoe and used the walker, I was hesitant to let the walker go. I faithfully went to rehab twice a week and did everything they threw at me, including skipping. I haven't been able to skip for a long time, hurt foot or not,  but I skipped down the gym floor, awkwardly and unsteadily, knowing they'd catch me if I became totally unbalanced and began to fall. That was a risk. And a challenge.

I am careful where I place my feet and aware of my balance these days, but walking is not painful anymore. My new challenge is to resume going to the gym to work on my balance and core strength, and to be faithful to the commitment. 

My other challenge for 2014 is to continue to detach from the issues surrounding my daughter, eventually coming to a place where I can be loving and kind without the fear and anger and worry that has been so prevalent in that relationship this year, especially.  I'll get there.

 

The courage to let go

Giving up does not always mean you are weak — sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go. ~Author Unknown

I am in the second week of a wonderful writing e-class titled Writing and Spiritual Practice, one of several offered here. It comes at a time most needed for me, something I could not have known when I was notified by Kat and Meredith (of Once in a Blue August Moon '13) that I had won a drawing for a free class. Because we were traveling in September, and because I am a spiritual seeker, I chose this class which began Oct. 4.

You'll not likely see my writing for this class on this blog: it is deeply personal and painful (and you already know a lot about me anyway!). There are only eight of us; I believe I am the only US resident; most -- if not all -- live in the UK. 

The first week was about faith and included an essay, some writing suggestions and inspirational materials. We learned how to write 'Small Stones,' a challenging exercise in paying attention and then capturing that moment. And we shared our efforts, giving us intimate insights into the others' worlds and experiences. 

I have never lacked faith in a higher power, in a Universal Wisdom, in whatever you want to call the oversoul that is the collective repository and source for our life energy. It has taken on different faces and dimensions as my spiritual path has evolved and changed, but it always has been there. This class is an opportunity to really examine that spiritual path and where it is taking me.  

I am in a crisis of sorts in dealing with an adult child who is in what I believe to be a dangerous living situation but refuses to do anything about it, and paying such attention to what I am feeling and experiencing has been therapeutic for me, if extremely difficult. Indeed, the second week's theme is "Clear Seeing," and there have been moments where I have clearly received reassurances and messages that I need to remove myself so that both of us can move ahead to whatever is next. Thank you to this writing group and to friends and family who have listened and encouraged and loved me through this. We aren't done but we are moving forward.

We never know from one moment to the next how our lives might change. Being aware of Small Stones help us to stay in this moment and to notice and treasure what is here right now. I wish my efforts weren't so full of roiling guts and heart-breaking fear and worry; I am working to see the other gemstones in all my moments and remember with each breath that “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ― Julian of Norwich

Scintilla#13, Day 16

The last prompts. Okay, I'm really late to this particular party.

1. What would it have been like if your life had turned out the way you wanted when you were a kid?

2. We bet there was a story you wanted to tell that didn't line up with any of the prompts. Write it anyway - and use it to write a one or two sentence prompt that others could use to tell a good story of their own. Then, share it with us, if you're comfortable.

Well, there are lots of stories I still have to tell, usually prompted by something that stirs a memory or an emotion. I'm hoping I'll be around for a long time to tell 'em.

I've been thinking about the first prompt since it came out, however, and I've already sort of spoken to that one in the Day 7 post about event horizons. Most everything that has happened since I was a kid is because of the choice I made about where to go to college, and then to stay there.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a nurse. Then a pediatrician. I loved kids; wanted to have four or six of them. Loved babysitting and did a lot of it. Helped in the church nursery and with the four-year-old Sunday school classes. I hung onto the medical field as a career goal pretty much until I butted heads with chemistry classes and realized that medicine was going to require a lot more math and science than I had any interest in -- or aptitude for -- taking. Scratch that one.

Had I stuck with the medical field, I would not have chosen the college I did, and everything would have been different. Everything.

When I hit early high school, I had a spiritual experience at church camp that convinced me I wanted to be a minister (United Methodist Church), and pretty much held onto that through most of high school, even being awarded a Christian service scholarship. It's quite likely that at times I was fairly insufferable, although my view of Christianity and the church's place in the world was very ecumenical and very involved with social justice issues -- clearly a precursor to my admittedly liberal opinions as an adult. I got to attend a variety of church-related conferences and workshops, and met so many interesting people in doing so.

And then in the latter part of my freshman year, that goal changed. I had joined various 'Christian' groups on campus -- not difficult in a church-related college -- and taken the 'Baby Bible' required courses: a semester of Old Testament studies, a semester of New Testament studies. But I started to question everything, including the core Christian belief of the Resurrection: clearly not a good thing for a wanna-be clergyperson to do, huh. Scratch that one too.

As it was, I experienced infertility and my then-husband and I adopted our daughter after a multi-year wait. Scratch the four-to-six kids.

And scratch the boyfriend I had for four years in high school and early college, too, and with whom I'd planned to spend my life. He's gay and is in a wonderful long-term relationship: they came to our wedding in 2000.

I am so grateful that my life has unfolded the way it has, even through the hard stuff and the heartaches. I would never have believed that at age 50 I would fall in love with a man who deeply adores the quicksand I walk on. I would never have believed that I would move to California (of all places -- Colorado would have been so much higher on my list back then!) and live by the ocean and end up in a rural valley between mountain ranges in a house I designed with my honey. I would never have believed that I would do even half of the things I've done -- not all of them pleasant, but each remarkable.

And that's all good, isn't it. We create our own destiny, minute by minute, year by year, experience by experience, hopefully building on what we learn to create a life we love. I have no expectations for these coming years of my life -- other than hope they will be numerous and happy -- but instead try to live and cherish each day, one at a time, and give thanks for it. What an incredible ride it's all been so far!

Scintilla#13, Day 7

The choices:

1. Write about someone who was a mentor for you.

2. What have been the event horizons of your life - the moments from which there is no turning back?

While I know I've had mentors -- my parents, a fantastic youth pastor, even my ex -- no one really stands out. I'm pretty much a do-it-my-way person, and most jobs I've had have been in one-person departments or as an individual contributor. I never climbed a corporate ladder so had no mentor there either.

So that leaves #2.

The pivotal event horizon for my life was where I decided to go to college, and then two years later, decided to stay there to complete my degree rather than transfer to a larger school (although I'd been accepted at a couple).

Those last two years  put me on a track that has determined nearly everything else.

It was a small school affiliated with the United Methodist Church and nicknamed '52 acres of Christian atmosphere.' It was in a tiny rural county seat town, just 30 miles from the University of Missouri, but since few people in those days had cars on campus, it might as well have been 300 miles. 

The quality of education was adequate; I had some wonderful professors in my major field, English, but I don't know that I was especially challenged there or in any other class. After my freshman year, I spent much of my free time at the campus radio station and learned news reporting, a choice that would influence the rest of my career. I also met my husband (now ex) and married slightly more than a month after I graduated.

That choice determined where I would live for the next 27 years as we moved five times in three states for his jobs, and then I would find jobs or freelance, which then formed my experience and resume. We adopted our daughter which changed nearly everything, both good and not so good.

While there were other, lesser, life choices made during that time, it wasn't until I was in my 40s that I began to really see the crossroads when I was standing at them, which made the decisions much more analytical and difficult.

And then when I was approaching my 50th birthday, I made another crucial choice -- to leave the marriage and move to California -- which changed the course of my life. And I've never been happier.

Scintilla#13, Day 6

Most writing prompts require some contemplation before I can begin. When I let the ideas simmer for a while -- like while I'm sitting on the exercise bike in physical therapy as I was yesterday -- usually something bubbles to the surface. And this story actually fits both prompts.

1. Describe a time when the content of your character was tested.

2. Write about a chance meeting that has stayed with you ever since.

**************
He was the husband of a work colleague, a woman I knew reasonably well and liked for her down-to-earth practicality and sense of ironic humor. I didn't know Hal very well, but in a small town you see the same people at parties and gatherings, and we'd exchanged greetings now and then. But he was older than I by at least 10 years, sandy-haired and burly, and very 'macho man.'

It was summer and hot, and I -- a long-legged, slightly gawky 20-something -- had just come out of one of the downtown shops, heading for the drug store and a cool, fresh limeade. He was walking along the sidewalk and said hello.

I smiled back. "How are you doing today, Hal?"

He came closer, just slightly inside my personal comfort space, and met my eyes as we exchanged comments about the weather. He was my height -- I'm tall -- and I noticed how blue his eyes were in his craggy, tanned face. He smiled warmly.

After a few minutes of inconsequential, friendly chat, I made a move to continue my quest for a limeade, and he put his hand on my arm.

"You know," he said, looking at me intently, "you are a very attractive woman. If you'd ever consider it, I'd really like to have an affair with you."

Surely that wasn't what he just said, I thought, fireworks going off in my stunned brain.

"If you'd want to, that is," he continued, his hand still firmly on my arm, slightly caressing my skin. "I hope you'll consider it."

"Hal, uh,  I'm happily married," I managed to stammer out. "But, um, thank you for the offer. If I ever decide...." Decide to what? Decide to sleep with you? What about Noreen, your wife? My husband?

Head reeling and a little shaky, I smiled at him again, adrenaline streaming through my limbs, mumbling something about nice to see you, and crossed the street, realizing that yes indeed, I'd just been propositioned by a man I hardly knew, in broad daylight, in the middle of town, both of us stone cold sober. (I was anyway, and I don't remember smelling liquor emanating from him.)

I told my closest friend about the encounter -- she also worked with Noreen -- and we laughed about it and wondered if Hal was in the habit of cheating on his wife (we suspected yes). But I did not tell my husband, and never mentioned it to Noreen, of course. After that, I only glimpsed Hal occasionally, and he never repeated his offer -- but then I always found someone else to talk to, avoiding an encounter.

It was the first time that I understood that I was a striking, attractive woman, that I was desirable to someone besides my husband. (I'd dated some, but was never the belle of the ball, sought after and lusted over like the cute, perky coeds in my high school and college classes.) It took decades longer to really believe that I was, and to finally embrace and like who I am. Hal was the first person who actually told me, and while I could not have accepted his proposal (betray the trust of my husband and his wife? No.),  I was flattered.  

Scintilla#13, Day 3

The prompts du jour:
1. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Write about a time you taught someone a lesson you didn't want to teach.

2. Talk about a time when you were driving and you sang in the car, all alone. Why do you remember this song and that stretch of road?

Any parent who says they have not ever been cruel to their kids to teach a lesson is in denial or they have kids who run all over them. Any person who has ever had to deal with a loved one's substance abuse, ditto.

Another day for those stories. Let's take a road trip.

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It was October 1997. I was heading, by myself, to California where I was beginning a new life, a new job, in a place that was completely unfamiliar. I was about to turn 50. It was one hell of a mid-life crisis.

I'd left Alabama on Sunday morning; left my husband of 27 years, my 21-year-old daughter who was in college there, a job, a host of friends and a life I'd known since I'd graduated from college. It no longer was enough. I knew I didn't want to look back years later and wonder 'what if.' So I was moving on.

A lot of preparation and angst went into the decision and the move, mind you, and it fell together, finally. I knew it was right, but it wasn't easy. I was eager, though, for the road trip, the transition of miles between old and new lives, the complete change of culture and topography.

That was my Grateful Dead period, about 20 or 30 years later perhaps than most people my age, but then I'd come late to a lot of things. I'd been properly introduced to the Dead that year through an Internet friend, a person who ended up being a huge influence and teacher to me on many levels. I was in love with the poetry of the lyrics, the harmony of the voices, the intricate instrumentation, and I listened to studio albums as well as tapes recorded live at concerts.

They accompanied me on that three-and-a-half-day journey, across  I-40 through Tulsa and Oklahoma City and on to Amarillo, and then Tucumcari. Through the long straight stretches of prairie and sky, I sang "Just a Little Light," asking for 'just a little sweetness, just a little light.' I bounced in my seat to "Come hear Uncle John's Band by the riverside, Got some things to talk about, here beside the rising tide."

From there, I wove my way through the mountains around Flagstaff, singing songs from "Terrapin Station," especially "Lady with the Fan" -- "Let my inspiration flow in token lines suggesting rhythm that will not forsake me till my tale is told and done," and then my favorite, the segue into the album's title song: "From the northwest corner of a brand-new crescent moon crickets and cicadas sing a rare and different tune..." Indeed.

I paused overnight at the brink of entry into California  at Kingman City, Ariz., with strains of "Box of Rain" and "Walk into splintered sunlight Inch your way through dead dreams to another land." And continued the next day across my new state, marveling at golden brown dunes and slowly rotating windmills, to Cambria and the ocean, singing, "Built to last while years roll past Like cloudscapes in the sky Show me something built to last Or something built to try...."

And then on a bright, sunny morning,  I meandered over the last bits of highway, the glorious and curvy Highway 1 through Big Sur, the lush fields of Castro Valley and Watsonville, to Pacifica, my new home, with "Touch of Grey;" "Oh, well, a touch of gray, kinda suits you anyway, That's all I had to say 'cause it's alright I will get by, I will get by, I will get by, I will survive."

I still listen to the Dead sometimes. I still smile when I hear those road songs, those voices that helped me make the biggest change I'd ever made for my life, and gave me lyrics to pin my new dreams on. 

"Terrapin - I can't figure out
Terrapin - if it's an end or the beginning
Terrapin - but the train's got its brakes on
and the whistle is screaming: TERRAPIN..."

Scintilla#13, Day 2

Today's prompts:
1. What's the biggest lie you've ever told? Why? Would you tell the truth now, if you could?

2. Tell a story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual (Step 1, Step 2, etc.).

Since I've been pretty much out of commission since the end of December and my days have been mostly spent sitting in a recliner with my foot elevated, not much of interest has happened. I'm currently doing physical therapy, but that's not interesting to anybody except me. And at this moment, I'm simply brain-dead about anything 'interesting.' So no to number 2.

As much as I despise liars now, I will confess to having told a few whoppers when I was much younger. No, really. I haven't done much lying for a long time. Perhaps I haven't revealed everything I know, to be sure, but that's not exactly a lie. (Is it?)

I can't really talk about the biggest lie because there are people still alive who don't know, and while I don't think they read this blog, I am not revealing those secrets. (And I'm still glad I told it. It was literally life-changing for me.)

One of the big lies I remember happened just after I got my driver's license at age 16. I was hot to drive by myself the mint green old (1950-something) Nash Rambler that was my mother's car. She'd gotten her license just months before I got mine, and the folks bought the Rambler because it was an automatic shift -- she hated the stick shift on our primary car as much as I did.

I finally got permission to drive my brother and myself to our Sunday night church youth group, but not until my parents had extracted a promise from me to 'Go straight to church and come straight home.'  I vowed to do just that, totally excited to at last have wheels! WooHOO!

But. One of my closest friends needed a ride home, and I volunteered. I mean, what could happen? It wasn't too far out of our way, just a jog here and there, and then straight home. I assured her it would be fine. Jimmy, my brother, was fine with that.

No problem. We pulled into her gravel driveway, she hopped out, and then I took my foot off the brake momentarily. The passenger front door was still open a little since my brother had transferred into the front seat. And the edge of the door caught a sturdy tree that was near the edge of her driveway, wrenching it open with a loud screech of protesting metal.

Oh. My. God.

I knew I would never be allowed to drive again.  I would be grounded for life. It was going to be expensive. And I had disobeyed my parents' explicit orders. (I was a very obedient child, I must say, pretty much always doing what was expected of me. At least at that point...)

Jimmy and Carol Ann and I put our heads together -- theirs being much cooler than my panic-stricken one --  and came up with a story. There were concrete half posts interspersed throughout the church parking lot. We decided that I had backed a little too close to one of them and Jimmy had not yet closed the door all the way and it just caught the edge and bent it. Right? Right.

The door wasn't hanging off the hinge, but it didn't close all the way either, and Jimmy hung onto it to keep it more or less closed all the way home. Tearfully I explained to my folks what had happened AT CHURCH and how sorry I was, and he backed me up, straight-faced and solemn.

If they didn't quite buy the story, I didn't hear about it. Carol Ann never said a word. And my brother and I have never talked about the big lie we conspired to tell our parents so many years ago.

Would I tell the truth now? Uh. Probably not. The car was fixed and as I recall wasn't a big expense but more of a big inconvenience. We were allowed to drive to church by ourselves at least occasionally. But I never again deviated from the 'straight to church, straight home' instructions. I knew I'd gotten away with it once, but was sure it would never happen again.

Another reason why I MUST vote for Obama

I have been absolutely baffled for some time why any woman, especially one who is educated and smart and knows exactly who she is, one who has full control of her own power, would possibly vote for a Republican.

A pair of wanna-be Senators in two states I've actually been residents of have embarrassed not only the Republican party leaders -- at least briefly -- by their comments about women, but have also shown themselves to be ignorant and very misogynistic.

This general disdain for women and their ability (or right?) to make health choices FOR THEMSELVES is rooted firmly in the language in the official Republican Party platform, 

The official platform does NOT provide exceptions to abortion for anything, including rape, incest, or life of the mother. Read it.

Furthermore, the platform says it wants to teach abstinence in school. ONLY abstinence. "Therefore, we support doubling abstinence education funding. We oppose school-based clinics that provide referrals, counseling, and related services for contraception and abortion. "

Uh huh. You try that with teenagers who are bombarded today with sex, sex, sex in today's music and fashions and role models. You try that when the kids have relatives and friends who have affairs and one-night-stands right in their own homes as a matter of course.

It's a nice theory. But it doesn't work. It didn't work when I was a teenager back in the 1960s either.  Ask the teachers and social workers and counselors and specialists in our schools who work daily with at-risk teens. (I'm not even sure if sex education is part of today's curriculum!)

The Republicans also want to defund Planned Parenthood, even though the organization which provides valuable medical testing and contraceptive services to underserved and poor women does not use any federal funds to provide abortion. 

...Yeah. Let's go back to the good ol' coat hanger abortion days, and limit access to birth control so that women will stay home and stay pregnant whether they want to or not...

And while they're on the 'put the little woman back in her place' kick, the Repubs put the Violence Against Women Act into limbo this year, an act which since 1994 has provided  " investigation and prosecution of violent crimes against women, imposed automatic and mandatory restitution on those convicted, and allowed civil redress in cases prosecutors chose to leave unprosecuted "(Wikipedia) They don't want to extend any sort of protection to  gays, lesbians, American Indians, or illegal immigrants who are victims of domestic violence.

Missouri Senatorial candidate Todd Akin nearly offed himself back in August with his comments about 'legitimate rape,' prompting Republicans leaders to distance themselves from him immediately. Akin refused to step down, though, and the Repub moneymen have slowly crept back into his camp. He continues to belittle his rival Claire McCaskill, recently likening her to a dog, and calling her 'unladylike.'

And now Indiana Senatorial candidate Richard Mourdock is claiming that a pregnancy resulting from rape is 'a gift from God' and that it is 'meant to be.' And what the bloody hell would HE know about it?

Seriously. You must bring a child of rape to term and you must look at your rapist's face in that child every single day because God meant it to be? What about the child's right to be loved? Pro-birth is NOT pro-life.

How can a person actually diminish, -- negate -- so callously and calculatedly the horribly invasive, violent rape of any woman?

And do you really want someone who can say that in all sincerity to represent your vote, your city and county and state?

The Republicans have this last season in Congress, especially, repeatedly and publicly tried to erode women's rights to control their own healthcare choices and to refuse equal pay for equal work and to deny gays, lesbians, American Indians or illegal immigrants the right to seek recourse for domestic violence. They will continue to drive this agenda.

And I just do not understand how this country's women, no matter their political leanings, can throw their sisters under the GOP bus by supporting and voting for ANY Tea Party or Republican candidate, from the Presidential candidate on down.

If you do, please don't call me your sister. I will continue to defend your right to make your own healthcare and reproductive choices despite your vote because I believe so strongly in that right.

But I know you would not do the same for me because of your Republican/Tea Party vote. You will destroy any trust I had in you, any semblance of sisterhood, by your actions.

Changes for the New Year

It feels odd not to have the Reverb11 prompts in my inbox every evening, and to think about what I'm going to write for the day's post. Reverb gave me a starting place for each day which often became more than its intent, since I usually would spend some time reflecting on the themes and checking my calendar to prod my memory.

Today, of course, was thinking of New Year's Day, especially from the past, but also noticing what turned out to be a very unseasonably warm day with plenty of sunshine. We enjoyed the company of friends today and good food -- I  think we all ate too much, including too many cookies, and laughed a lot. May there be more of that this year.

Long ago in another life I used to cook something on New Year's Eve that was a new recipe, usually completely different from food I regularly prepare, and share it with friends who were not critical. Our kids and we adults played games like Trivial Pursuit or Pictionary or charades, and at midnight we'd go outside and bang pots and pans to welcome in the year. And even longer ago there were NYE parties, and some pretty awful hangovers the following day. And harking back to 1968 NYE, I was proposed to at the stroke of midnight. So many years have gone by since then. So much history. So many lessons.

We get to start over, if we want, with a new year, beginning a new month, a new year, and changing what it is we don't want to carry with us any longer. And yet we are who we were just moments before that midnight hour strikes. I am who I was those 43 years ago, but I am not the same person. My choices throughout each of those years inbetween have brought me to where I am now, and my choices in 2012 will find me changed on New Year's Day in 2013.

I get to choose what to keep and what to cultivate this year. I'd like to make those choices wise ones, ones that will enlighten my soul and make clearer my life's path. I'm grateful for the people in my life to help me do that.

Reverb11 -- Day 31 -- Reflect and Choice

#1 Prompt: Reflect - Take a moment to think back on your reverb11 responses.  Have you learned anything?  What surprised you about this experience?  Which of your responses was your favourite?

#2 Prompt: Choice: What can you choose in 2012 to make your life better?

#1 -- When you take the time and make the effort to reflect on past experiences -- not to beat yourself up or to think about ways things coulda-should-woulda been handled differently, but truly examine the experience in the clear light of after-the-fact, it should always end up being a learning experience.

With Reverb, the year is up for review -- something I don't know I'd do so introspectively otherwise. I've learned that there were too many sad moments in 2011, too many mucky bogs to slog through a step at a time. I've learned that there were too few joyful moments, too little laughter, not enough fun.

I was most surprised, I guess, by the revelation that Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" turned out to be the defining moment of 2011 for me -- a real 'Road to Damascus' moment that has shaped most of my actions since that dark night. I knew it was important; it is in the looking-back that the impact becomes noticeable in what my life has  been since, and in the direction that I've been at pains to continue walking towards.

In that poem, that revelation, I was able to release my fears (mostly) and desperate need to make things better for someone else -- to 'fix' them. I was able to let go and turn towards my own life, and I've stayed on that path since.


What a strange place to find the light -- an issue of O Magazine, reading late on a dark and stormy night.

I like the honesty in my responses this year: I've put a lot out there for people to see, and yet I felt I was writing these letters to myself alone. I liked especially this post because it was a revelation to me as I was writing it, at least the part about forgiveness (I knew I liked food ;>}}}.

Reverb is a powerful writing tool and a revelation if approached with a willingness to examine oneself candidly and honestly. I think there will be additional Reverb-related e-mails this year and I'm also planning to seek out other writing prompts. That really helps with the discipline -- the 'doing the work' part -- of writing daily.

#2 -- What can I choose to make my life better? Being proactive about health issues, losing weight, easing stress will go a long way towards making my life better. I'm mostly doing that now, well, maybe except for losing weight. But I don't want to wait until some big health crisis looms large (like I'm in the emergency room) before I address issues that I know I have some control over -- and all too many of us do.

I can choose to do things I enjoy doing and to be with people who are positive, easy to be with, and who care about me as much as I care about them. I can choose to avoid groups and individuals whose negative energy and attitude are spirit-suckers -- you know, sort of like the Dementor's Kiss in Harry Potter?

I believe that even in the darkest of times there is always a glimmer of hope (reinforced by our current viewing of the entire extended edition of The Lord of the Rings, where the blacks are pretty darned dark and it's hard to see much hope, unless you're Arwen, who always finds it). I choose to be with people who share that outlook, and to ask them for help if I find myself falling into the pit of despair.

I can choose to make my days meaningful, whether that is cleaning out clutter or spending time with a friend or simply sitting and reading a book. And always I can choose gratitude: it helps prolong life and makes even difficult issues easier to bear (I know that is a very Pollyanna-ish attitude and there will be some who scoff. I've tried it both ways. Gratitude is a lot better, lemme tell you. And it is your own perception of any situation that makes the difference as to how easy or difficult it is.)

***************
I am grateful for the writers who took the time and made the effort to formulate and e-mail Reverb prompts this year. It makes a difference to my own life.

Happy New Year to all tonight. May 2012 bring you blessings you didn't know you needed, joy you never visualized, and love you always hoped for.

20 things I wish I'd known earlier

I've been thinking about doing this list ever since I read this blog post on The Lettered Cottage. Layla Palmer illustrated hers with wonderful photos and included some of her favorite quotes, and I loved it.  

So on the eve of my 64th birthday -- how did I get to be this old so fast! -- here are some things that I would tell my teenage self. I'm not putting photos here, but picture your own self as you were when you were a high school senior with all those dreams and desires and plans.

I probably wouldn't have listened carefully enough back then to have understood some of the ramifications of my actions and non-actions. And I probably wouldn't have believed some of the stories that I now tell about my life. But for what it's worth, here is what I would say now to my teenage self:


1. You are pretty, although I know you don't think so now. You're taller than average, yes, and you desperately envy the girls with the great hair and bubbly personalities who are "average" height and weight and build. But one day a man is going to fall head-over-heels in love with you and your long legs, your green eyes, your straight, fine hair, and your what-you-see-is-what-you-get personality, and he's going to tell you every day how loved you are, how pretty you are, and how lucky he is. You will feel like you won the lottery with him. Promise.

2. Your big voice that carries so far and that you try so hard to control will serve you well one day. People will want to hear your words.

3. Your mother and father love you more than you will understand for many years. Cherish the family times; listen to their stories; hug them every time you get the chance, and listen to their advice, even when it irritates the living crap out of you. One day you will miss hearing their voices so much that it makes you cry.

4.  Not everyone is going to like you, and you aren't going to like some of them either, and that's okay. You don't have to be a people-pleaser; in fact, you'll be better off if you just be who you are instead of who you think they want you to be.

5. Listen more than you talk: you'll learn more that way. Everyone has a story that they want to tell someone. 

6. And think before you speak: be sure the brain is engaged before the mouth opens. Your words carry a lot of weight: be sure your message is clear. You are very good at the quick, sarcastic comeback, but it can hurt others, and you really do not want to do that. 

7. Take care of your body: parts wear out faster than you'd think.

8. Moisturize your neck. Really.

9. Write. Keep a journal. Remember stories and practice writing them down. You'll make money from writing, and you're good at it, better than you think you are. You will want to write a book.

10. Be easier on yourself. Disbar that critical judge that lives in your head who tells you all the shoulda-coulda-woulda stuff. Be who you really are, and love yourself.

11. Be kind, even when you do not feel kindly. There is not enough kindness, ever. Thumper had it right: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

12. Be careful with the alcohol, the chocolate, the rich, fried, buttery foods. It is all about portion control. And you'll never not love sweets, but you'll eat more veggies than you could ever think.

13. Practice gratitude every day. Even on the worst days you can find something to be grateful for -- a hot shower, a cup of Earl Grey tea in your grandmother's china teacup, clean sheets. It makes things easier.

14. Ask for help. You do not have to do it all yourself. You CANNOT do it all yourself, although you'll try and suffer for it until you learn better.

15. Cherish your friends, but be sure you know who they are. Not everyone is trustworthy: guard your confidences.

16. Children are a mixed blessing. You will love your children more than you could imagine, but you will also suffer great pain when things happen to them that a kiss and a hug can't make better. This will always be true.

17. Live each day as though it were the only one you have, because you never know if it might be. Plan for the future, but live in the moment. And let go what is past: you can't change what happened.

18. Time speeds up as you get older. Do things you really want to do sooner than later. Listen to that little voice way deep inside you: it will steer you where you need to go even if others are telling you differently.

19. Be patient. Wait for what is right. This will be a lesson that keeps coming back to you, one day at a time.

20. Do. Not. Settle. Not for a relationship, not for a job, not for a dream. Get clear about what you want, and then make it happen. You have tremendous power within yourself.

What would you tell your 17-year-old self?

Dear Universe, give me patience. Now, please.

That 'patience' lesson has been one that the Universe has offered to me over and over most of my life, but since 1997 I've been really aware when it presents itself.

I think I'm there again, although I'm not sure exactly what I'm needing to be patient about this time.

My life changed drastically in 1997  (although there was actually a lead-in of several years that I can see now that I have the perspective of time and hindsight). I was working in Birmingham, Ala., for a multinational company that sent me to the San Francisco area to visit other offices and to meet with my colleagues from there and from the East Coast offices.

It was a wonderful time: I explored the city, went to a meditation retreat in Marin County, ate wonderful food, met with my colleagues and worked on planning and projects, and thought a lot -- a LOT -- about what I wanted. I was 49 years old and so many of my friends were going through huge changes in their lives -- illnesses, divorces, moves -- best known as "mid-life crises." About that time I discovered Gail Sheehy's New Passages, a followup to her best-selling book Passages, and realized that we women were not losing our minds and that certainly our feelings and actions were not unusual. It was liberating to understand that.

I came home knowing that I belonged in California, more specifically in the SF Bay area, and that I did not want to look back at my life when I was dying and wonder "what if." I wanted to be who I was, not who I was expected to be any longer. That message from the Universe was crystal clear.

So I started to work towards that goal, involving many long distance job applications, hours of reading and talking to friends who lived there already and with those who knew me best, approaching my company for a job, and  -- yes, a divorce.

From April until August -- really not long at all -- I worked single-mindedly at this, crying a lot, praying a lot, meditating a lot, reflecting on who I wanted to be, and trying -- STRUGGLING -- to be patient. In August, one of my employers' offices in the SF area came through with a job offer and I flew out to look for housing, which required more impatient patience as I waited for applications to be approved. (I HAD to live on the coast within a few miles of my beloved ocean, after all...)

It was the absolute right decision for me. It was not the easy path, however, and being on my own in California was sometimes very difficult and lonely (at least until I found Tony -- something the Universe clearly had planned for us).  The Universe kept throwing 'patience' lessons at me, though, and I have learned to deal with it a little better over these last 14 years.  At least I recognize when I need to let go and let it be, although it is always a struggle not to try to take it back and try to control it.

And once again I feel 'patience' as the lesson of the moment, but it seems to be patience for the next right thing to come along. I've felt very uncreative for quite some time -- fleeting ideas about writing, jewelry-making,  sewing, gardening, singing, acting --but not anything that I feel passionate enough about to actually spend much time doing, and therefore I haven't done much of anything. Since I've always been passionate about the creative things I've chosen to do, to be so wishy-washy about doing anything is a little unsettling. 

So, Universe, I'm waiting to see where I should go from here. You are in charge here, not me, and I get that, finally. I'm just trying to keep my eyes and my heart open to possibilities, and watching for open doors and windows. And to be patient, trusting that all will be well eventually. (But please remember that as I get older this time becomes more precious, okay?....)

Letting go -- again

That old lesson of letting something/one go seems to constantly be in front of me, but a blogging friend posted a poem the other day that really helped me understand the concept in a new way, easier to wrap my head around.

It said:

To "let go" does not mean to stop caring.
It means I can't do it for someone else.

To "let go" is not to cut myself off.
It's the realization that I can't control another.

To "let go" is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another.
It's to make the most of myself.

To "let go" is not to care for, but to care about.

To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive.

To "let go" is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.

To "let go" is not to be in the middle, arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To "let go" is not to deny, but to accept.

To "let go" is not to nag, scold, or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To "let go" is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.

To "let go" is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.

To "let go" is to fear less and to love more. 

--Unknown--

It's not new, it' s just new to me. The quote is all over Google.

Perhaps it feels relevant because we are on the cusp of change again: our youngest princess has moved to the Seattle area with her family to start a new, hopefully better life, although it's been a rocky start since her husband's (felony child-abusing) ex immediately filed a declaration that resulted in her receiving the three older children temporarily, and creating great turmoil. A court session tomorrow should result in V and D getting the kids back, and visitation mediation happening via phone. Nonetheless it has been difficult all around, especially for the kids, who have lived full-time with V & D for more than four years now. We've been on board to listen and soothe and comfort, and help as we are able.

Perhaps it feels relevant because I have worked hard to 'let go' of Princess #1 and my tendency to want to micromanage her life and choices, and for the most part am succeeding. Doesn't mean I'm sleeping all that well at night, when the ice weasels come out to play, but I'm not in her face all the time anymore -- healthier at least for me; it has got to be less frustrating for her. Her choices and decisions are hers to make, not mine, and the consequences of those choices also are hers, and I am not going to make them mine. The poem above helps me feel less like I'm abandoning her or that I don't care, because I do, very much. But I am not the responsible party here.

That said, I spent a good bit of July and August on the car search and ended up reasonably happy (although my tendency to second-guess myself after the deed was done appeared at least briefly). That's done. I've let it go. (really)

And we're looking at some changes in our lives too, although until it is actually fact I am not saying exactly what it is in this forum. These are good things, though. 

Another thing I'm in the process of doing is letting go of all the people I used to be: a very busy career woman, an active church and choir and committee participant, an involved mom with a school-age child, a do-it-yourselfer who painted, papered, stripped wood floors, made most of my clothes as well as R's dresses and tops. I'm not there anymore; I'll never be there again, nor do I want to go back. 

I confess to having some ideas of making some simple clothing again, since I find it hard to find styles I enjoy in colors that are pleasing, and especially for a reasonable price. I will probably end up volunteering in some capacity eventually, although nothing is singing loudly to me right now. I want to nurture my creative side again: I've been so caught up in managing R's affairs and illness and the business details of that for so long, and there is always something around here to clean out or tidy up or cook or fold, and so I've procrastinated finding my creative self for a long, long time. I want to let the need-to-ought-to-do stuff slide more and spend more time reading a novel or even beginning to write one, finishing the charm necklace I started two years ago and do more repurposing of my old jewelry., I want to put my ideas for landscaping our yard into action and start getting the bones in place.

 

I do not want to spend more time worrying about other people's lives and how they could fix them if they just listened to me. I want to let that go. All of that.

And I'm also beginning to accept where I am on the great wheel of life. I have fewer years ahead of me than are behind me. My butt-time career is really over, and I won't be climbing any more corporate ladders, not that I ever really did, with so much of my working life spent in non-profit and public sector areas. While I'm pretty tech-savvy and I read a lot about pop culture, I'm not in the main target audience for anything except Medicare supplemental insurance and walk-in bathtubs. I don't offer opinions anymore to anyone who will listen, and sometimes I'm sorry I opened my mouth when I do, partly because I'm realizing that disagreeing with a long- and strongly-held opinion is pretty useless and usually merely frustrating.

Life is short, too short to spend one more moment doing things and saying things that don't much matter to who I am. I'm letting go of the desire to please people, sometimes just by not saying what is in my head and at the back of my throat, but most definitely by not putting myself in a vulnerable situation in the first place -- i.e., doing something somewhere with people that I don't really care much about. I'm letting go of other people's expectations of what I will do or how I should act, and am resolved to be just who I am.

Yes, it IS all about me from now on!

 

(Well, that'd be me and my honey. But he loves who I really am, warts and all, and encourages me to be more me. It doesn't get better than that.)

That's my new plan for the rest of 2011 and forward into 2012. Be who I am now, let go of my need to control and please, seize the day for the good that we find in each one, and let regret go.

Consequences

Everything we do (or don't do) in life has a consequence.

If you choose to smoke cigarettes, for instance, you increase drastically your chances of getting cancer, emphysema, asthma, or some other smoking-related disease, likely shortening your life. You also expose your children to second-hand smoke, increasing their chances of illness. (And your clothes and your house smell. No matter how careful you are, they stink.)

If you choose to make fats and sugars and white flour the majority of your dietary intake, you likewise dramatically increase your chances of obesity and all its related health issues, which then may limit your activities, your self-esteem, your income, and likely will shorten your life.

And if you stop unhealthy behaviors, you also may extend and improve your life and increase your pleasure and happiness. Even when damage has been done, making choices that improve your life can make it better.

If you lie about what you do or who you're with or what you've achieved or where you've been, those lies will eventually surface and almost inevitably will cause trouble with your job, your loved ones, your health, and have ripple effects that can disrupt your living situation, your income, and even your freedom. Certainly they can have devastating effects on your mental wellbeing.

A choice made years ago can determine who and where you find yourself today. Sometimes the consequences take time to become evident, too -- even years.

Every action, every decision (or failure to decide), every choice has a re-action, a consequence. But when do we realize this? How old do you have to be before it sinks in?

It took me years to recognize that, really. Yeah, I knew early on that if I lied to my mother I was going to receive a much harsher punishment than I'd otherwise have gotten (she was that kind of mother. So was I.)  I knew that if I didn't study my stupid algebra that I was not likely to pass a test -- although I also learned that in subjects I liked and which came easily to me, I sometimes could slack off and still receive a decent grade, and good grades got you more privileges and more interesting classes.

But I didn't think so much about the consequences of what I said or something I did until I was a lot older. And in the last few decades, choices and their consequences have been almost automatic considerations as I've gone about daily life.

Doesn't mean I don't make some choices that could hurt me down the road -- like having that scoop of ice cream after a healthy salad lunch. Like not getting on the treadmill every day. I try to make up for those lapses -- actually, those choices -- in other ways, however. Whether that will be good enough remains to be seen. Like I said, some of the consequences take years...and are cumulative...

Making choices about how we behave with our friends and family requires more deliberate thought, however, and I think we become more careful about our actions as we age.

Most of the time nowadays, I actually put the brain in gear before the mouth opens. I know I choose my battles far more selectively, and I try to weigh my words and their potential effect. I try to listen more than I talk. And I try to be kind, no matter what I say (although the girl in the Red Bluff Metro PCS office today probably wouldn't agree as I explained emphatically that what they did was a 'bait and switch' tactic and that I was not going to pay for the plan they'd automatically 'bumped' R's new account up to. It took 15 minutes and a great deal of talk and frustration to get the monthly bill to the point where I'd pay for it. But I digress...)

I've become far more protective of myself and my honey, and our wellbeing. Realizing that I can't 'fix' others' lives and actually living mine accordingly was a big breakthrough for me. That's resulted in establishing some boundaries that have definitely had consequences for me as well as for the other people involved -- there are some things that I'd thought would be part of my life that will likely never be, for instance, and some of those relationships are not what I'd hoped they might be. I'm slowly making my peace with that.

Probably the most searched terms within this blog have to do with getting out of life what you put into it, and reaping what you sow. I suppose this entry follows those themes once more. Every decision, every action has a consequence eventually. And a measure of maturity is, I suppose, the ability to project that choice into what consequences might follow it.

May your choices be well-reasoned and made with your highest self in mind.

Of life and death

"Silence in the face of evil is itself evil...
Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."
        - Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and author


Late the other night I saw a Facebook post written by a cousin that was pretty clearly a suicide note, although it was not despondent or angry. It simply said that it was time for him to go, embellished with a few descriptive phrases.


I posted a brief comment saying that it sounded very final, with a question mark, and eventually went to sleep saying prayers for him. 

He was on my mind when I got up, and when I logged on to the computer, I searched for the post but it was gone. So I sent him a brief message expressing concern and included my phone number. 

 I hesitated only a moment before I first contacted him, knowing I would be drawn into a conversation that no one wants to have and probably result in  an extended family crisis of sorts, knowing that I don't know him or who he really is, and yet I was unable to accept NOT responding compassionately to such a very public statement. What if my response could make a difference in how he feels? And what happens if no one responds to his post? How sad.

He called yesterday afternoon and we talked for several hours -- more, honestly, than I've spoken with him in decades.  Note: While I have many cousins on this side of my family tree, I am not close to any of them either geographically or emotionally. I know a few  a bit better than others, and we connect several times during the year usually through e-mail, but only rarely face-to-face or by phone. There is a family connection that I do honor, however.

Today's Daily Om speaks precisely to family and our connections with each other, and it struck me with its spot-on timeliness.  It explains the connection I felt when I read the post and why it is important to who I am.


This cousin is not a spring chicken: he is plenty old enough to know what he wants, has done some remarkable things and has, he told me, answered all his spiritual questions. He is tired of living, is facing some very difficult issues, and said that he doesn't have a plan for moving forward, can't see a future for himself. He also told me he had 'pulled the trigger' the night he posted his note, but it "didn't work." He did not elaborate.

Others who live in his area have now become aware and  involved. But I do not think, nor do they, following their own conversations with him, that anything we do or say will make a difference. Only he has control of his own destiny -- which, actually, is as it ought to be, since we cannot save any lives but our own.

Ultimately nothing was 'resolved' in our conversation. There are no magic words that will make a difference in how he perceives his situation, nothing I or anyone else can say that will deter him if he is determined to end his life.  But I cared enough to reach out to him, and that touched him. I acted out of compassion and from the shared experience of family heritage. I'm glad that I did. I'm sorry it took such an act for us to connect, even if briefly.


It also has made me consider where our moral obligation begins and ends as far as the taking of one's own life is concerned. He asked if I would try to stop him if he had a terminal disease, for instance. While I don't know for sure what I would do for myself should I be in that circumstance, I believe I would want to have the choice, especially when confronted with such debilitating illnesses as Alzheimers or Lou Gehrig's disease, for instance. (May that never be so...)

I believe he has the right  to end his life if he chooses. Both I and at least one other reminded him of the devastation his death would bring to his family, reminded him that change is the only constant and that all things do change,  and made sure he knew where to find help should he reconsider. He knows the drill; he knows all the talk. He'll do as he chooses. His is not a heat-of-the moment decision.

Were he a teenager or 20-something, I'd have responded differently.  But he isn't. He has thought this through and while I don't agree with his assessment of his future, I don't live in it either. And so I honor his right to make that choice for himself, and I told him that I would bear witness to what he told me -- and he encouraged me to use any part of our conversation to help others better understand what he is feeling.

Whatever the outcome, this will stay with me for the rest of my life. It has reinforced for me the knowledge that I am not ready to leave this world, not even if the next offers second chances and new beginnings as my cousin believes it does. This world, this life, has offered me plenty of both, and I am certainly not done with them yet. 

 "The Summer Day"  by Mary Oliver asks in its final line, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I want to cherish that wild and precious gift, every single day. 

I want to smell the newly mown grass and the heavily-laden, heaven-scented lilac bushes this spring. I want to sit out under the Milky Way and watch the meteor showers this year. I want to taste the still-sun-warm strawberries from the field down the road, and the first ripe tomato from my own garden. I want to read about another gazillion books, and go to the ocean this summer to cool my toes in the Pacific sand and marvel at its constancy. I want to pet more kitties and gaze into their all-knowing eyes and see that they, at least, have figured out the mysteries of the universe. I want to wrap my brother in my arms at least once this year and tell him how glad I am he is my brother and how much I love him. I want to go out to lunch with my daughters and buy them each something pretty and giggle at silly things with them, forgetting for a little while their problems and issues, and just celebrating our connection. I want to go to sleep every night in my husband's arms and wake up every morning to his loving brown eyes looking at my sleepy green ones. I want long conversations with him over good, strong coffee and hot breakfasts, and over fresh lunches, and over nutritious dinners. I want to cry when I see pictures or read stories that touch my heart or remind me of my parents and how much I miss them, even though I talk to them in my heart every day. I want to write long letters to my best friend and read hers that tell me all about her remodeling and gardening efforts, and her recovery from cancer, and I want to say thank you to the Universe, to the Mother and Father God, about a million times a day for every day that I have left on this beautiful earth.

For in spite of bickering and threats on the political front, pig-headed, stubborn zealots of all religions and political parties, in spite of the devastating effects of nature, in spite of an economy that is struggling to revive with valiant stories of renewal and rebirth -- and yes, second chances and new beginnings -- this is a beautiful earth. This is a beautiful life. I have lessons left to learn, and, I think, things still to teach. There will be pain and some suffering involved, I'm pretty sure, since growth doesn't happen without it. But I am not ready to leave it all behind. In fact, I'm ready for more total immersion: I want to make the very most of the days and years I have still to live.


I'm sad that my cousin can't see anything else for himself. But he has unwittingly given me a mirror to examine my own future and to see what I want. And for that, I am grateful beyond words. May my own life be a reflection of what I hope for others to see. And please say a prayer for him, and for those who will be so terribly lost without him.